#bucky barnes prompts

[wolvietxt]

𝓢ILENT 𝓣REATMENT.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : argument, crying, hurt / comfort, happy ending, established relationship au, shouting, implied size diff (like my fav trope if you can’t already tell) silent treatment  summary : after an argument with frank, you both end up giving eachother silent treatment, until the tension gets too unbearable for you in the car. wc : 4.5k a/n : i got a req for this a few days ago but i think i deleted it or something i can’t find it now💔 but it was from an anon so thank you for this one because i loved writing this ALSO!! thank you to everyone who leaves feedback + little comments on my frank fics i notice it happens more when i write for frank and it’s the absolute sweetest

the air in the apartment felt heavy, charged, like a storm was brewing right there in the middle of the living room. frank was pacing now, his big hands flexing at his sides, his jaw tight enough that you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.  

you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.

but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.  

“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”  

you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”  

“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”  

“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”  

“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.  

your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”  

“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”  

“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.  

his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”  

“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”  

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”  

his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.  

“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.  

you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.  

“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.  

silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.  

you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.  

the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.  

you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.  

you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.  

so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?  

you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.  

the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.  

at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.  

you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.  

you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.  

frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.  

he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.  

you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.  

you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.  

meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.  

he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.  

but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.  

he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.  

the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.  

he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.  

the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.  

you had said yes because it mattered to him.  

but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.  

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.  

he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.  

you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.  

when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.  

outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.  

he didn’t notice.  

the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.  

frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.  

you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.  

he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.  

still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.  

the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.  

you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.  

your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.  

you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.  

the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.  

eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.  

your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.  

but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.  

with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.  

he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.

“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.  

his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.  

you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.  

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.  

frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.  

your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.  

“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.  

you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.  

“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”  

you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.  

“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”  

you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”  

he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.  

your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.  

“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.  

his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.  

he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.  

when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.  

your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.  

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.  

as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.  

the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.  

you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.  

“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”  

your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”  

“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”  

the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.  

it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.  

“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.  

before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.  

inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.  

“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.  

you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”  

frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”  

“frank, i’m fine - ”  

“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.  

when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.  

you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.  

as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.  

after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.  

“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.  

you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”  

his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.  

the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.  

as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.  

“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.  

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.  

he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.  

the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.  

he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.  

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”  

as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.  

it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.  

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.  

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[mischievous-thunder]

Is this the official pose of fighting for superhero couples? Is this also the official pose for trying to calm your feisty partner?

Is this how they reassure each other?

Is this how they protect the love of their life? Is this common amongst enhanced superhero soulmates?

[f-misc]

(captain america: brave new world spoilers)

sambucky scene transcript!

----

On Sam, looking at Torres in the hospital, hearing footsteps come up behind him.

Sam: "It's a private room. Go away."

Bucky comes into view beside Sam.

Bucky: "Missed you too."

They look at each other. Bucky a soft smile. Sam looks away, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

Sam: "I hate to admit it...I'm glad you're here."

Sam looks back to Bucky and they both go in for a hug, Bucky closing his eyes in it. They part, stood side-by-side again.

Bucky: "You looked good out there on that 6 o'clock."

Sam shakes his head a bashful smile. Then sombre again.

Bucky: "But then I saw this."

Sam: "Doctors had to restart his heart. They don't know if..."

Sam closes his eyes.

Bucky: "This isn't your fault."

Sam: "It makes me think of Steve. How many alien invasions did he stop, again?"

Bucky: "Two."

Sam: "Two. Wow. What made me think I could follow that. I should have took the serum. Like Steve. Like you."

Bucky looking at Sam.

Bucky: "Why?"

Sam: "Because this is all starting to seem much bigger than me."

Sam turns to fully face Bucky.

Sam: "Ross, he asked me to restart the Avengers, Buck. But Joaquin's in here. Isaiah's in prison. And Sterns...I had him. I had Sterns. Right in my hands. And he got away. He damn near pushed us to the brink of war, because I wasn't—"

Sam emotionally cuts himself off.

Bucky: "Say what you need to say."

Sam looks down, then back to Bucky.

Sam: "Steve made a mistake."

Bucky: "No he didn't. He gave you that shield, not because you're the strongest, but because you're you. You think if you had that serum, you'd be able to protect all the people you care about. Steve had it, and he couldn't. You're a human being and you're doing your best. Steve gave people something to believe in, but you...you give them something to aspire to."

Sam squints at Bucky.

Sam: "Did your speech writers help you with that?"

Bucky: "They did, yeah, the ending, a little bit. Well, did you like it? Was it—?"

Sam: "No no, it was good. Solid...B plus."

Bucky: "Yeah. Emotional."

Sam: "Very. I felt it."

Bucky: "But just enough."

Sam: "Yeah."

Bucky: "Listen, I've gotta...catch a plane. I have a campaign fundraiser. It's so stupid."

They look over Torres, smiling. Bucky looks at Sam.

Bucky: "He's gonna be all right, man."

Sam looks at Bucky, shakes Bucky's hand.

Sam: "Thanks, Buck."

Bucky: "I love you, buddy."

Bucky cuffs Sam's arm and leaves; Sam nods, looking after him.

[lostalioth]

☆ hi my loves here we go with a what 3rd or 4th i don’t even know attempt at doing kinktober lmaoo. now as always i can never seem to finish kinktobers which is why i lower how many days i do as well as i pick a variety of characters to write for so i don’t get bored writing all month for the same 3-4. the same as last year i will plan on posting a fic sort of every other day so (sun, tue, thur, sat) which is why it’ll be 18 days and not 31. if you recognize any as repeats in last years kinktober prompt lists, yes i carried some over from past lists that i didn’t get to.

☆ i do not do taglists on any of my fics and kinktober is no expection however you can follow my library acc → @aliothslibrary i reblog all my fics on that account seconds after i post it, and only my fics so if you wanna be notified of my posts for kinktober follow that acc and put notifications on :) you can also search up the tag #lostalioth kinktober for all my past kinktober fics etc.

☆ MY BLOG IS 18+ MEANING MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!! ALL OF THESE FICS INCLUDE SMUT AND EACH WILL HAVE THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS.

day one → body worship + love marks w/ roommate!stucky

day two → dry humping + handcuffs w/ steve harrington 

day three → high sex + bribery w/ eddie munson

day four → bondage + fingering w/ tasm!peter parker

day five → creampie + master kink w/ loki laufeyson

day six → face sitting + thigh biting w/ marc spector

day seven → piercing + cock worship w/ bucky barnes

day eight → pain kink + praise w/ dean winchester

day nine → obsession + belly bulge w/ logan howlett

day ten → overstimulation + hand job w/ sub!miguel o hara

day eleven → semi-public sex + against a wall w/ steven grant

day twelve → dacryphilia + corruption w/ perv!bsf!eddie munson

day thirteen → cock warming + begging w/ steve harrington

day fourteen → free use + primal play w/ logan howlett

day fifteen → lap dance + choking w/ mob!bucky barnes

day sixteen → edging + sir kink w/ steve rogers

day seventeen → caught masturbating + anal w/ sam winchester

day eighteen → double peneration + drunk sex w/ steddie

☆ hope you enjoy my babes!! please send me feedback, don’t be shy to comment or reblog your reactions to the days as i love seeing how you guys feel about my fics :) thankk you so much for reading and supporting my writing if you do and if you don’t for whatever reason that is perfectly fine as well!!

[artgroves]

Bucky Barnes for @cuidadolasllamas

[kilibaggins]

Physical Affection Prompts

hi all! I just thought I'd make my own list of various physical affection prompts and since no idea is ever original some of these are 100% on other peoples lists but im not using other lists as reference or copying anyone. this list is for my own use and other peoples use and there's no need to credit me (though it's always nice).

reblog to have your followers send you these as prompts !! or just use them for your own writing.

all of these are meant as sfw prompts but some may seem a bit more intimate.

tracing someones face

tucking hair behind their ear

forehead kisses

desperate hugs

crying into their neck/shoulder

reversed little spoon & big spoon (the one who is normally the big spoon is the little spoon and vice versa)

holding their hand under a table

kissing their hand

kissing their collarbone

sitting with legs in their lap

morning cuddles where they're both mostly asleep and they don't want to wake up yet but they want to cuddle

petting their hair

head pats

sitting on the floor in front of them while they sit on the couch and their arms touch their legs.

holding both of their hands

hugs from behind

gently touching their waist to move past them (dont do this to someone you're not dating! dont believe I have to say this.)

grabbing their wrist or hand and turning them around

playing with their hands when nervous

slow dancing

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[bcksbarnes]

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP PROMPT REQUEST: #34 asking if you're okay with them going to hang out with their friends tonight, except they really want you to say no.

it was late at night when you finally got home from work, past dinner time but still early enough that you couldn't wait to curl up on the couch with a good book and your boyfriend, bucky, for the next few hours until it was time for bed.

"i'm home!" you called out to him as you closed the door behind you, dropping your work bag down so you could take off your coat.

"hey." he said, emerging from the bedroom, a somber smile on his face as he moves to give you a quick kiss. it doesn't get by you that he's not in his usual clothes. bucky is wearing a nice pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt and his leather jacket, a spritz of cologne to top it all off.

"you're all dressed up." you hum a bit as you take him in.

"ah ... yeah, actually..." bucky brings his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it softly, a nervous feeling settling deep in his gut. "sam asked me if i wanted to go out and grabs some beers with him and joaquin. i was waiting for you to get home to see if you were okay if i went?"

"sure." you say, a small smile on your face as you kick your shoes off. "tell them i said hi."

bucky's face fell immediately, almost as if that wasn't the reaction he was expecting .... or wanting. as you walked into the kitchen, you heard his footsteps following behind you.

"wait what?" he asks, leaning against the doorway. "you're not ... mad?"

"why would i be mad?" you ask while rummaging through the fridge. "am i supposed to be mad?"

"yeah ... i mean, you've been at work all day and you just got home, i'll probably be out for a few hours. aren't you upset we're not going to be spending any time together?"

"buck," you grab a hold of the leftovers from the night before. "we live together, i'm pretty sure i can spare a few hours not being together."

he was not excited by that answer, clearing his throat a bit as he tried a different approach to this conversation. his eyes dart around the room as he thinks of some excuse to try and get you to change. not that he needs your permission to do anything, but because he values your opinion.

"so, you don't want me to stay home? you don't want to spend time with me?"

you can see right through his facade, trying to pick a stupid fight, but you're not sure why he's doing it.

"don't twist my words." you glare at him, and he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "why are you so worried that i'm fine with you going?"

"i'm not worried." bucky pouts, which he so very rarely did and he would 100% deny doing. "i thought you'd want to hang out with me, that's all."

"and ..."

he sighs, throwing his hands up in surrender again.

"and ... sam and joaquin are inviting a bunch of their work buddies that i don't know, and they also never stop talking. i really don't want to go." bucky finally admits. "i was hoping if you said no then i'd have a better excuse than 'i don't want to go because i hate all your friends and you two never shut the fuck up'."

you let out a laugh as you push the buttons on the microwave, turning around to face him. your arms move over your chest as you shake your head.

"you could have just told me you didn't want to go." you say as he approaches you.

bucky leans his head down onto your shoulder and lets out a load groan of frustration, obviously not wanting to go. your hand moves to his hair, running it through his soft locks as you try to stifle a laugh.

"and i want to stay in with you instead." he mumbles against your shoulder, the neediness present in his voice. you press a kiss to the side of his head, your arms wrapping around his shoulders at the same moment that the microwave beeps.

"stay then. you don't need to ask me if you can." your voice is soft in his ear.

bucky wraps his arms around you and sighs, the anxiety of having to be social for the night quickl subsiding at the thought of falling into routine with you instead. the true place he always wanted to be.

[winterspiderpurrs]

Okay but the thought of someone questioning WHY Peter's shirts are too big/oversized

" Oh. I kept my ex's shirts in the break up. Unless there is one they want back really bad. Otherwise I keep them. They are so comfy"

The Jealously that is felt is crazy.

[wolvietxt]

𝓓ISTANCE.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : slightly suggestive, implied age gap, super light barely there angst, implied size diff, fluff, established relationship au, petnames summary : you miss your boyfriend more than anything, even though he’s currently sitting right next to you wc : 1.7k

the apartment felt too big, even with frank sitting just a few feet away. he was at the kitchen table, leaned back in one of the rickety chairs, his broad shoulders and solid frame making the furniture look almost laughably small. he was nursing a beer, gaze trained out the window like there was something out there worth watching.  

but you weren’t looking out the window. you were watching him, the way his forearm flexed when he tipped the bottle to his lips, the way his jaw ticked as he thought about whatever was running through that head of his.  

frank castle, in all his quiet intensity, was here. but for some reason, it felt like he wasn’t, and you hated it more than anything.

“are you all good over there?” you asked, breaking the silence.  

he didn’t turn to look at you, but his lips twitched at the sound of your voice. “yeah, baby, m’fine. just thinkin’.”  

“you’ve been thinking all day,” you mumbled begrudgingly, leaning against the couch and crossing your arms.  

this time, he did glance at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “what’s wrong?”  

“nothing.” you bit your lip, shifting under his gaze, feeling the pout start to form on your lips. the truth was, you missed him - his touch, his warmth, the way he always made you feel so safe without even trying. but saying that out loud felt silly, especially when he was right there.  

frank, however, didn’t let much slide. “don’t look like nothin’,” he said, setting the bottle down and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”  

you hesitated, cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “it’s dumb.”  

“you know i don’t care if it’s dumb, sweetheart,” he said, his tone softening. “what‘s the matter?”  

you huffed, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. “i just… really miss you, i guess.”  

frank frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “miss me? i’m right here.”  

“i know,” you said quickly, looking away, feeling small under the weight of his gaze. “it’s stupid, i know. but it’s like… you’re here, but you’re not really here, you know?”  

he didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made you fidget. finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “c’mere.”  

you blinked, looking back at him. “what?”  

“i said, c’mere,” he repeated, sitting back in his chair and holding out a hand. “if you miss me so much, then come over here, baby.”  

you felt your cheeks heat even more, but you didn’t hesitate. pushing yourself off the couch, you crossed the small space between you and slipped into his lap, your arms looping around his neck instinctively.  

frank’s hands settled on your hips, big and warm and steady, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief at the contact.  

“that better?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.  

“a little,” you admitted, resting your head against his shoulder.  

his chest rumbled with a quiet laugh, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “needy little thing, aren’t you?”  

“maybe,” you mumbled, nuzzling closer.  

“it’s cute,” he said, his hands moving up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. “you’re cute.”  

you tilted your head to look up at him, your heart fluttering at the softness in his gaze. “you think so?”  

“yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a small smile. “damn adorable.”  

you felt a little ridiculous, sitting there in his lap, your arms tight around his neck like you couldn’t get close enough. but it didn’t matter. the way frank’s hands were soothing your back, the way he was looking at you, made everything else disappear. you weren’t aware of the world outside the two of you anymore, just the warmth of his chest beneath your cheek and the steady beat of his heart that you could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt.  

"so you really miss me, huh?" frank's voice was low, a bit rougher than usual, but there was no mocking in it. just something soft, something a little unexpected.  

you nodded, unable to say anything else. your fingers idly traced the line of his jaw, the stubble there a little rough against your touch. you could feel your heart race just being this close to him.  

“that’s cute,” frank murmured, his voice a little softer now as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. "you know you're all i need, right?"  

“yeah, but you’re still so far away sometimes,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck as you settled against him more comfortably, your body fitting into his with an ease that surprised you.  

he tensed for a moment, but it wasn’t from discomfort. he just seemed… caught off guard by your neediness, the way it pulled at something inside him. you could feel his breath hitch when you nuzzled closer, the tip of your nose brushing his collarbone.  

“it’s not far away,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “just been distracted, sweetheart. i’m here now.”  

you melted a little more at his words, your heart swelling. "i know."  

frank leaned down, pressing his lips against your temple in a gentle kiss that made everything inside you feel light and soft. his large hands moved again, this time running up your back before settling at the back of your neck, fingers gently threading through your hair.  

“you get all soft like this, and i can’t resist,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.  

you laughed, the sound shaky but happy. “i’m not that soft.”  

“yeah, you are,” frank teased, his lips brushing against your jaw now as his fingers lightly massaged your scalp. “so damn cute. don’t know how you do it.”  

“do what?” you asked, your voice a little breathless from the closeness, the heat, the overwhelming affection in the air.  

“make me wanna kiss you all the time,” he said, the words soft but full of meaning. “make me wanna keep you close, make sure no one else gets the chance to take you from me.”  

you bit your lip, your hands sliding up to tug at the collar of his shirt, the movement a little desperate but filled with a need you couldn’t quite hide. “don’t want anyone else. just want you.”  

that made his chest rumble with a soft laugh, but this time, there was something undeniably tender in it. he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he looked at you with that soft intensity you rarely saw.  

“good. ‘cause i’m not lettin’ anyone take you,” he said, his lips curling into a smile.  

you could feel the playful energy crackling between you, even as it was all wrapped in something softer, something more intimate. you weren’t entirely sure how you’d gone from missing him to practically begging for his touch, but it didn’t matter. all that mattered was that he was here, pulling you in even closer, his hands a warm anchor against you.  

“come here,” frank murmured, his lips brushing yours in the faintest of kisses. “let me show you how much i want you too.”  

without waiting for a response, he tilted his head, his mouth capturing yours in a deeper kiss, more forceful than before, but still tender. it felt like an anchor, like a reassurance that this - whatever this was between you - was real.  

you let yourself fall into it, your hands roaming down his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath his shirt, your fingers tracing the lines of his body like it was the first time you were allowed to touch him.  

his hands slid down your back, his grip tightening just enough to pull you even closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that had your heart skipping a beat.  

“you sure you’re alright?” frank asked against your lips, his voice heavy with desire but still laced with concern.  

“yeah,” you breathed out, your fingers tugging at the waistband of his pants, the simple touch making him exhale sharply. “i’m more than alright now.”  

he smirked against your mouth, pulling back just slightly to look at you. “thought you were just missin’ me, not all... this,” he teased, his voice low, filled with amusement and affection.  

“missed you,” you confirmed, voice thick with the need you could no longer hide. “missed everything. all of you.”  

there was something about the way he looked at you then, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. and you didn’t care how needy you seemed, didn’t care about anything other than him.  

frank brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering along your jaw. “you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, eyes soft as he looked down at you.  

you smiled, finally feeling the weight of his attention in the most perfect way. “only for you, frank.”  

his lips quirked up in that familiar, barely there smile, his hands pulling you in again. “damn right, sweetheart.”  

and just like that, you were lost in him again, caught up in the softness of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, the undeniable need to be close to each other - always.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[bcystar]

— NO NEED TO BE DRUNK

it was never about how drunk you were

pt.2 to stay for breakfast but can be read as a standalone

pairing: Joaquín x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

authors note: wrote basically the entire thing in one whole night…domestic Joaquín save me 💔💔 also I need to start posting in a timely manner…why is it midnight right now 😞😞 LAST THING don’t mind the format change, I write and edit on my notes app THEN copy and paste onto here and I js got too lazy to make the font smaller and space it out 💀💀

You wake up to warm rays of Sunlight kissing your face and a heavy arm holding you close. You bask in the comfort of the situation, disregarding the pounding in your head. The last thing you remembered from your night out was asking Joaquín to stay the night, remembering you’d promised him breakfast. You slip his muscular arm off your body and slither out of bed. As you stretch, you notice the pills and water on your night stand. “Joaquín you old softy.” You grin to yourself as you gulp down the pills.

You’re flipping the last pancake when the sound of the floor creaking makes you look up from your stove.

“Rise and shine sleepy bird.”

“Good morning to you too, Angel.”

He inches closer to where you stand at the stove, leaning next to you. That’s when you take a look at him. His hair is disheveled, his face is lightly puffy (making him look sooo much cuter), and…he’s…shirtless..? You can’t help but glance down his body. His abs may be attractive but it’s his moles that really grab your attention. They looked like mini chocolate chips on his tan skin…

“Angel, the pancake is burning.” Joaquín takes the flipper from your hand and flips the pancake himself.

“Don’t worry I’ll take that one…” he notices you’re still staring “…you okay..?”

“Huh? Oh uh yeah. My head is killing me.” You rub your forehead.

“Well you quite an eventful night, and also, you did not have to make all this food.” He takes the mildly burnt pancake and plops it on a plate.

He slides your plate to you after adding all the toppings you loved. “C’mere, Angel.” He beckons you over with his arms wide open.

You melt in his strong hold, his scent filling your nose, you almost never want to pull away. He rubs his hand over your back in a circular motion while the other holds your waist tight. Your mind stops all the noise and commotion and falls silent in his touch. He creeps his hand up into your scalp and scratches the back of your head softly. You breathe out a sigh into the crook of his neck and he giggles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just ticklish.”

“Just your neck or anywhere else?” You two are now bobbing side to side softly to the tune of only your affection.

“Nowhere you need to know nosey pants.”

His hand stays massaging your head as you bury your head back onto him. This all felt so…perfect. The sunny morning, yummy breakfast, your crush holding you, maybe you were still under your drunken dream. You slide your arms from your side to his waist. He flinches away at your touch fully giggling now.

“Oh my god! How ticklish are you?!” You laugh out.

“I told you! Now c’mon, breakfast is getting cold.”

He pulls a chair out and looks at you. You struggle to dilute your smile as you walk back over to him. Once you’re sat comfortably in your seat, he brings over your plates from the counter and over to the dinner table. Once sat, he looks at you, waiting for you.

“What.”

“Nothing, just waiting for you to eat first.”

You chuckle “Why?”

“I mean…you cooked it all, you deserve first bites.”

You just smile at him as you eat a piece of your pancake. Once you take the first bite, Joaquín digs in like he’s never been fed before. He barely chews his food, basically just inhaling it. You can only sit bewildered as you eat. “Sam not feed you or something?” You joke, cutting the last bits of your first pancake.

“Not food this good. It’s all granola bars and sad salads. Sometimes, Bucky will bring him lunch and he’ll tell me to take some but…” all he has left is the last piece of bacon “…it’s all even more depressing forties food.” You let out an amused laugh.

He looks at you so happily. He’d made you giggle and whatnot before but never laugh this hard. He’s basically beaming at this point and starts to laugh with you. The laughter only dies down when you transition back to eating your breakfast and silence falls on the two of you. You don’t mind though, you’re both thinking, maybe about the same things, maybe not. You can’t stop thinking about his touch. So gentle yet so firm. The way he comforted you without even having to be asked. God he’d be such a perfect boyfriend.

Joaquín on the other hand was still thinking about your laugh. Your eyes squinting into cute little crescents and your bright smile emitting light from how bright it was. The sound of your laugh, he would listen to it all day if he could. Without even realizing it, you’re both staring at each other. It’s almost as if time froze, you both basically have heart eyes beating out of your eye sockets for each other. It’s the sound of a grating squeaking that snaps you two back to Earth. You’d sliced through your pancake and were basically about to slice through your plate. You two can’t help but laugh again at the whole situation.

“You know what? I was full anyway.” You stand and throw your scraps into the trash.

Only when you stand before the sink Joaquín stops you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You at him and then the sink full of dishes “…the dishes…?”

“Not after you cooked it too.”

“No that’s exactly why actually, also you’re my guest, it’s my job.”

“No it’s fine, I’m basically here every weekend anyway. If anything, I’m a regular.”

“Okay how about we compromise hm? You wash and I’ll dry? Sound like a fair trade, cutie?”

It takes a few seconds for him to reply “Fine.”

You two work together like a machine. He scrubs and rinses, you dry and stow. The air is filled with the hiss of the sink and the squeak coming from the towel on the plate.

“Hey thanks for taking care of me last night, I know I can be a difficult drunk.” You break the silence after putting away the last pan.

“Ah it was no big deal, plus you’re kind of cute when you’re drunk.”

“I didn’t talk about any conspiracy theories did I?”

“He’s totally like watching over us from the Moon!” He mocks your voice.

You can’t do anything but slap his shoulder and act annoyed. It’s him grabbing your arms and wrapping them around his neck that makes you break your act. His arms hug your waist tight and he seems as surprised that he did this as you are. “You know…it uh…it kind of felt like a…d…date…” you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “…in a sense…not just last night but…also now…?” The last part felt more like a question than a statement.

“What are you getting at Joaquín?”

“Do you wanna date?”

Your eyes widen.

“No no like go on a date. We can date after! Or after a few dates! Or not at all! I don’t know, it’s all really up to yo-“

Only when you press your lips against his does he stop talking. It’s not a long kiss, just enough to serve the both of you for now. You pull away and his face goes towards yours like a magnet. Now it was your turn to slightly scratched back of his head.

“Yes Joaquín, I’ll go on a date with you. We can only talk about the actual dating part if you can take me to some really fun dates though.” You smile.

“I can do that.” Then he crashes his lips to yours.

Now it’s deeper, more intimate. He lowers his left hand lower down your back and his right hand higher up. He feels your embrace so warm and soft against him, he needs to be closer. He pushes you further against him, deepening the kiss. You respond by grabbing a handful of his hair and gently tugging at his soft curls. He groans against your lips and you can feel your pulse quickening. It’s only when you start to lose your breath you pull away. He reluctantly pulls back too and has the cutest hazy look on his face.

“I should get drunk more often so you can always kiss me like this.”

“Trust me, Angel. You never needed to be drunk for me to kiss you.”

You giggled and pulled him into a hug.

You should’ve done this way earlier.

[mischievous-thunder]

Now that's marvellous!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 12)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Zombie apocalypse au)

Prompt: I have nowhere else to go

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; zombies; mentions of murder; blood; death

Author’s note: This got a little too long for a fic that was initially meant to be a Drabble but I couldn’t bring myself to let it end earlier. And this was quite fun, since I’ve never written something like this before.

[Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics ]

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Your side is stinging terribly, pulsing with every unsteady step.

Your legs fail at mimicking a normal stride, falling back into a limp.

Your hands tremble, defying every command to just stay still.

Your lungs sear with every breath, dragging air like fire down a raw throat.

Your head swims in chaotic loops, spinning with images and echoes you can’t escape.

Your shoulder and back throb from an impact you took earlier, sharp pain shooting up your spine with every jolt of your uneven stride.

The enormity of what just happened refuses to fit neatly into thought.

The sun is not even all up in the sky and your day already took a turn so cruel, you are teetering on the edge of collapse.

You stopped keeping track of time since this whole apocalyptic shit began but it's safe to say that you just lost everything you had in the span of maybe three hours.

You are exhausted. You are tired. You are in fear. You are in shock.

Acknowledging all of that is dangerous right now.

The world feels off-kilter.

Nausea rises again. Though there is nothing left in your stomach. You already emptied it on the forest floor before you stumbled into the trees, desperate to escape.

The acrid taste still lingers at the back of your throat.

The trees around you sway in your periphery, tall shadows painted in moonlight. It’s not the wind that makes them sway. It’s your vision. Branches claw at the sky like the dread claws at your resolve.

Your body is screaming at you to stop and collapse into the dirt, but you know if you let it, you won’t ever stand back up again.

You have to keep going.

You have to press on.

Your world has crumbled into rot and hunger, and all you have left is the instinct to run.

Run and survive.

Whatever that means now.

You have no sense of the distance you’ve put between you and the nightmarish scene you had to leave behind, no measure of the miles your aching legs already crossed.

You don’t know if they are right behind you. If they’re even coming for you.

It was barely dawn when they came.

It wasn’t a warning shot or a distant sound that reached the camp first. No, it was the impact.

The sound of boots trampling through the undergrowth, bodies charging through the trees, wild shapes silhouetted against the rising sun. Barked commands that carried no meaning, only menace.

You had barely time to register what was happening when they were already in the heart of the camp.

They scattered supplies, spilled meager rations into the dirt, kicked apart the fire pit still faintly glowing from the night before when your small group all sat in a circle around it.

With the first scream, violence erupted.

Blades flashed and mocking laughter rang out from all sides as you heard your companions cry out in terror and pain.

They scrambled from their makeshift shelters, some clutching weapons, others still groggy, confused, unarmed. There was no time to gather thoughts, no time to plan. The raiders were already upon you, tearing through tents and slaughtering everyone in their way.

You watched as Caleb lunged for them, but they cut him down before he even reached anybody.

You tried to get little Benjamin to safety but he got ripped away from you in a matter of seconds and you only felt the slash of a knife against your side.

You heard the guttural sobs of Jonna and her wide eyes as she couldn’t tear them off the lifeless body of her husband. You tried to reach her, grabbing her and getting her away but before you could, she got hit and fell. Just like her husband had moments earlier.

The thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clash of metal, the desperate screams of the people you knew and trusted, cutting off as quickly as they began, the splattered blood everywhere across the ground, slick on leaves, staining clothes of people who’d been alive only seconds earlier. Blood that is all over you, painted in your hair, in your face, on your hands-

You heave the bile against a nearby tree.

Your throat burns. The images burn. The memories burn.

The world is already torn apart as it is but they ripped at everything you had fought for.

You were pinned on the ground at one point. Brutally shoved down and the impact took your breath away. However, you were able to move out of the way of the knife that was meant for your face and instead buried into the ground. The surprise of your attacker weakened his hold on you and you were able to flee, but not without taking a few more hits.

Your friends were dead. Everything was destroyed.

So you ran.

You ran, stumbled, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

You wondered if the raiders stayed to strip your makeshift camp bare or if they followed you. The last one alive. The one that slipped through their grasp.

Or maybe they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort, and your life hangs by nothing but chance.

After all, you feel death knocking on your door. And it will kick it in, hinges breaking and wood splintering if you don’t open it yourself.

But you won’t.

You push on. You will push your body to its breaking point.

Even if your mind shatters way before your body does.

Because you know you will crumble if you allow your thoughts to win over your body.

You just lost everything you had.

Your group was only on the move.

The camp was supposed to be a fleeting thing. A place to catch your breath from traveling. This morning you were all supposed to pack what little you had and keep moving and get closer to the sanctuary you had spoken of. A place you were going to build. A place where no raid, no nightmare, no lifeless beast could touch you.

So, if you had risen earlier, broken down the camp faster, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps your friends - the few people who so graciously took you in almost two years ago - would still be alive.

You don’t even know who the marauders were. They came out of nowhere.

A realization makes your blood run cold.

Something you remembered only now.

The sounds.

You heard it between the screams of your friends at one point. Low, throaty, and too familiar. The kind of sound that makes your pulse rise and pricks the back of your neck.

It was the sound you learned to fear. The sound your world had been drowning in for years now.

The sound of the dead - those shambling remnants of humanity, curses to wander the earth as mindless husks.

You remember the way they started moving so differently than when they came into your camp - some of them sluggish, others unnervingly erratic.

And you begin to wonder. Perhaps they had been bitten before raiding your camp.

And perhaps that’s the reason they came. They knew their time was up. They probably felt the infection eating at them, death clawing closer. Maybe attacking your group was their last violent eruption of humanity, the last thing they did with a conscious mind before they fell to the disease that had already claimed their souls.

They didn’t have anything left to lose. No loved ones to mourn. No future to fight for. Just an empty void ahead. A transformation into something even crueler than the monsters they already were. Perhaps they wanted this last conscious act to mean something. To carve their names into the memory of the world before they became nothing more than rotting corpses, stumbling through the dirt without a single thought in mind.

It makes you sick.

If they wanted to be remembered, they succeeded. You will remember. You will remember the massacre, the destruction, the screams, the wicked laughter that curdled your blood.

You will remember them because the screams of the people you came to love and trust have planted themselves into your chest and they won’t ever leave.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To leave a mark, no matter how meaningless, no matter how vile. Or maybe they simply wanted to take something beautiful and shred it before they joined the walking rot.

Either way, they are gone now and you are left.

Alone.

You are left alone.

On the way to the one place you never thought your feet would lead you to again.

The one you meant to leave behind. To forget. To never return to. To move on.

Though you have to admit to yourself it never worked as well as you had hoped.

It has been two years since you left.

Two years of telling you to lock those doors with memories you tried to forget for so long.

And now, the thought of going back lets dread curl around your chest. It’s the dread of walking into a place you don’t know if you’re welcome anymore. The dread of facing what you left behind - facing who you left behind.

But there is also a flicker of something else. Something that feels too fragile, too dangerous to name. You tell yourself it’s nothing - just a memory, nostalgia - but you can’t quite smother it.

Because those people were your family once. Before you left, before you found the group you traveled with these last two years, they were your everything. Your friends, your loved ones, your sanctuary.

They were the ones that held you together when the world fell apart, the ones who gave you a purpose in this now purposeless society.

You left them behind to find something that you lost again just earlier.

The new group you had come to call your own, the people you fought beside, laughed with, dreamed with. All gone. Taken from you in a single, brutal morning. By people you couldn’t even take revenge on anymore. By people who aren’t even people anymore.

And you know your new companions never replaced your first family but they were home nonetheless.

But now, you have nowhere else to go but the place you called home first.

Though, would you really be welcome after all this time?

Would they let you in? Would they open their gates and arms for you?

Would he let you in?

Because truly, that is the only question that matters. You know the hearts of the others, know that they would be happy to see you again.

Sam, with his wide toothy grin. He’d throw his arms around you and clap you on the back and tell you something that would make you laugh despite everything.

Steve, with that glint in his eyes. Because he never truly believed you wouldn’t return.

Wanda, with the tears in her gaze. She’d pull you into her embrace, whispering how she’d prayed for this and never given up hope.

Natasha, with her amused smirk. She’d stand a step behind with her arms crossed and tease you that it only took two years for you to miss them enough to lose all the dignity you could hold onto and came back.

And all the others who would greet you with happy smiles and tears and hugs. Because that’s who they are. Who they’ve always been. They are pure love for those they call their own.

And you have been one of them.

Of course, your sight would first be met with concern at your condition, but the joyful reunion would eventually happen. Banner would fuss over you but keep the worry out of his calm hands and voice like the professional he is. Tony would bark orders, his mind already working ten steps ahead. Peter would hover nearby, ready to help, ready to do whatever was needed to put you back together.

You imagine how they would patch you up, make sure you didn’t collapse right there at their feet. They’d press water into your hands, bandage the gashes, stitch the torn skin. They would give you time to breathe, to settle.

A smile almost manages to spread over your lips but the exhaustion in your bones tugs the corners of your mouth back down.

And there is this one person you’re not sure about. What will he do when he sees you? What will he say? Will he say anything at all?

There is a reason you left, after all.

The community you all lived in was a big one with men and women and children and elders all sharing a beautiful and vast space.

You had all agreed on not having a single leader to rule but rather having the few most trusted people who started this whole thing to do councils every so often.

Once, you were one of them.

You would meet up, usually when the night had already started, discussing and making decisions - everything involving supply runs, how to keep the walls protected, how to celebrate a birth or mourn a loss, and so on.

Bucky was a part of that as well.

And that’s where the trouble lay.

You two never really seemed to see each other eye to eye. You would fight and banter - him calling you stubborn and reckless, you calling him pragmatic and intolerant. The disagreements were constant, heated, and sometimes public enough to turn heads and the other council members to end up disappointed and helpless.

It went on like that for years. Though the day it all fell apart will forever live in the cracks of your mind. Guilt never dulls no matter how much distance you put between them and yourself.

It was a supply run. Something that’s been routine by now. A scavenging mission into hostile territory, dangerous but necessary. Food was running low, medicine almost gone.

You were walking through the woods - a sector closer to dead zone, but Bucky and you were both fueled by anger at the other’s stubbornness to pay attention to the little group of people you took with you. They were good at ignoring your bickering.

“We do it my way. Slow, methodical. We’re not losin’ anyone because of some reckless stunt.” His tone was flat. Final.

“I’ve never put anyone in danger, Bucky,” you defended with fire in your voice.

Bucky’s voice was hard. “You charge in without thinkin’, every single time-”

“Yes, and I always do that alone, Barnes. Don’t you think I know the risks? I wouldn’t ask anyone to-”

“Damn it, Y/n,” he cut off, voice sharp. “It’s bad enough that you do it-”

“If we only ever go slow, people will starve. We can’t afford to waste time, Barnes. You want to lose them sitting on your hands instead of taking a risk? That’s on you, not on me.”

Bucky talked lower then, harshly.“That’s not taking a risk, Y/n! That’s fuckin’ suicide.”

The actual mistake was in the silence that followed. No compromise, no meeting of minds. Just the brittle quiet that stretched between you both and the tension that lingered even over the other group members walking with you.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, his steps heavy. Yours were no lighter.

It happened fast. As it always did. One moment, the woods were still, only the crunch of the leaves underfoot and a few insects in bushes and trees surrounding you.

The next, groans split the air, coming from every direction - shadows lurking between trees, their figures misshapen, their eyes empty.

There were too many of them. That was clear from the first breath, but you didn’t have time to process it, to count.

You shouted for the group to move, to break toward the clearing just ahead and they started rushing away until Bucky’s voice rose behind you. His commanding tone seethed in your veins.

“No! Fall back - circle to the ridge!”

But the clearing was closer. The clearing was safer.

So you said as much.

But that’s all the hesitation it took for the dead to gather closer. Close enough.

You lost precious time, precious ground. The damage had already been done.

Two people didn’t make it. Two lives, lost in the spaces between your choices.

The argument that followed was like nothing before. No banter. Not bickering. It was an unfiltered and ugly thing, charged by your guilt and his. Words were thrown, accusations hurled. It was awful.

And when the shouting stopped, there was nothing but silence. Thick. Unbearable.

Neither of you could let go of your anger, your grief, your pride long enough to see that you’d both failed them.

That day something shattered in your connection. Whatever that had been. The tension that always accompanied your relationship. It felt corrosive. Wrong.

And that’s when you made the decision. The decision to leave, that now led you to come back again.

Will he resent you? That thought is a blade that has turned itself dull from too much use, yet it still cuts at you in ways you can’t dodge.

You imagine him standing there, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as it would be stoic, staring at you with the fire that always burned behind his eyes.

Will he even let you step inside? Or will his anger boil over and turn you away, pushing you back into the wilderness you barely even escaped from?

Will he relish in your brokenness, in the way life has stripped you down to your very bones? Will he find satisfaction in seeing you this fragile, this vulnerable, clinging to scraps of pride as your body barely holds itself together? The image of his piercing gaze, not softened by time or mercy, sends a shiver down your spine.

But it also just might be your body starting to give out, you realize when more shivers whack your form.

You push on.

And you wonder. Could there maybe also be relief in those eyes, hidden behind the mask he always wears so well. Relief that you’re still alive, that whatever dark roads you’ve walked since haven’t claimed you completely.

Or would that relief be poisoned by something bitter - the satisfaction not of your survival, but of seeing you humbled, seeing you brought low enough to crawl back to him, back to the home you lied to yourself you were fine living without.

You picture his face shifting. A flicker of something softer crossing his features before he buries it deep. Will it pain him to see the bruises painted across your skin, the blood that’s long since dried on your hands and clothes, the tremble in your limbs while you stand before him like a ghost returned from the grave?

Will he turn you away, disgusted not by your injuries but by the weakness they represent?

You wonder if he’d speak at all. Silence, from him, could be worse than anger. After all, anger means caring. You don’t get angry if you don’t care.

So, perhaps you will be left to fill the empty space with your many regrets and guilty feelings.

Maybe he won’t even look at you. Don’t throw you a single glance, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.

But your conscience can’t help but imagine things.

Because what if he’d feel something he wouldn’t dare admit, not even to himself. That the faintest pull of relief isn’t for the pain you’re in, not for the way life has broken you, but that it is for the simple fact that you’re here, alive, breathing. Maybe that relief would be buried under layers of what he’d felt for you all those years. But it would be there.

Honestly, you don’t think you will ever get an answer to any of those questions. Because you feel your mind start to drift too much. As if the images in your head start to turn into dreams and your body is luring you into sleep to live them out.

You’re giving up.

And you are still not close enough to your old and now only sanctuary despite walking and dragging your frail form for hours and miles on end.

Your head is spinning, images and voices now blurred and upside down and all wrong.

Not even noticing you stopped dragging yourself forward, you start to lean the whole weight of your body against a nearby tree.

The bark is rough against your skin, scraping through fabric, digging into bruises, and tearing them raw. It should hurt. You know it should hurt, but it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another sensation - one more thing slipping away.

Your eyelids droop. They feel so heavy. The forest is shapeless around you, just a mess of color and shadow.

Your breaths come shallow and uneven, lungs forgetting to do their job. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know this is it. This is where you’ll stop, where you’ll finally collapse and leave it all behind.

And the thought somehow isn’t as terrifying anymore. There’s a strange, unfamiliar peace blooming in your chest. You think about how your body would lie here, half-curled in the dirt, skin pale and bloodied, eyes forever closed.

Bucky might find you.

One day he might stumble upon your corpse on the ground. Maybe he’ll kneel beside your lifeless form, the frown on his face deepening, lips pressing into a grim line. Maybe he’ll tell you that he was right. That you were reckless and should have listened. Maybe his voice will tremble just a little.

The bickering you shared will follow you even into death.

The thought makes you want to laugh, but your body is too far gone for that. It’s barely your body anymore. It’s a shell of nothing. The world tilts, spins, then tilts again. You feel yourself begin to let go.

You won’t wake up. Not this time. And somehow, that’s okay. The peace blossoms brighter in your chest, warm and soft, as if the weight of the world is finally lifting.

You lost everything you had. And not even just today. You lost it two years ago when you decided it was the best to leave your home.

Your eyes slip shut and you don’t try to press them back open again. Your body is slumping to the ground, bark scraping against you, the ground rushing closer. The cold earth is pressed against your face. Your breath falters and slows.

Your body feels dead by now but your mind still blinks with awareness. And funnily enough, it can’t seem to let go of Bucky. His sharp face. His strong voice, the cadence of it so deeply carved into your memory that it echoes so clearly as if he were sitting right beside you.

“Y/n!”

“Shit, Y/n!”

It calls your name. The sound so urgent and frantic, it pulls you back for a fleeting second, though you are sure none of your muscles even twitch.

You are actually impressed with yourself. His voice sounds so real, so vivid. How is your mind able to conjure something so precise on the verge of unraveling completely? It’s him, down to the inflection, the roughness, the bite.

But you know it isn’t really him. That wouldn’t make any sense. Your mind is exaggerating. You’ve blown the image of him out of proportion, dressed him in a panic he wouldn’t wear for you, not for this.

If he found you like this - broken, slumped, slipping away - perhaps his voice wouldn’t even crack.

The day you said your goodbyes, Bucky wasn’t even there with the others. He wasn’t there when you hugged Sam, his arms lingering around you. Not when Steve couldn’t evoke a smile that wasn’t tight or sad. Not when Wanda touched your cheek with shaking fingers, her tearful eyes searching you for a reason to make you stay and telling you you’d always be welcome to come back home. Not when Natasha ordered you, not to get yourself killed out there, what was a little too late now.

You didn’t really expect him to come. Actually, it was better this way, you had thought. Cleaner. No last harsh words, no heated standoff, no last-minute chance for him to dig deep again.

Some stubborn, foolish part of you had hoped of course.

But that was when you saw him as you made your way to the gates.

He stood at the edge of the grounds you were about to leave behind, hidden in the shadows of bushes and trees. His arms were crossed over his chest, his figure rigid, his face set in stone.

You willed not to let your heart clench, but it did. You told yourself he was just there for a final gloat, some grim satisfaction in watching you go. In seeing you lose.

But his eyes held yours. So unwavering and intense. It burned through you. His features were dark, but also, he did stand covered in shadows. However, there was no smirk, no triumph, no venomous parting shot.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t step forward, didn’t say a single thing. He didn’t do anything but hold your gaze as if daring you to be the one to break it.

And you did.

You had a new life to attend to.

And you didn’t look back when leaving.

Still, you felt the burn of his eyes on you, so much more intense than ever before.

You guessed he dropped that stoic, seemingly unhappy mask the moment you were out of sight. Maybe he even threw a silent celebration, relieved to finally be free of you, of the friction you brought into his life.

But the small annoying voice in the back of your mind whispered something else. Something that actually made you consider turning back around before you got ahold of yourself again.

It told you that maybe his expression had stayed dark long after you were gone. That maybe his gaze lingered on the empty path where you’d disappeared. That maybe his arms stayed crossed, not to shield himself from the cold but to stop himself from reaching out.

And your brain now doesn’t seem to have any doubts either because you might actually feel hands shaking you, gripping your face. There weren’t many times when you came in contact with Bucky’s hands, and only fleeting and unintentional, so you don’t know if your conscience got the feeling of his hands on you right but you relish it anyway.

You hope he’d worry. You hope so much. Why, you don’t even know. It’s not like it matters anymore. But you need him to worry.

You need him to feel something sharp, something visceral. You need the cracks in his stoic armor to show and your name on his lips to sound like a prayer instead of a reprimand.

“Stay with me, Y/n! Come on!” It’s a snarl and a plea at the same time.

His voice is pulling you back - or maybe it’s pulling you under. You can’t really tell the difference. It is the kind of sound that is too rough to be tender, too desperate to be cruel.

His voice gnaws at something in your awareness, steering something deep in your bones.

Hell, your dying brain is doing a hella good job.

The world shifts again. Or maybe it’s you who shifts. The sharp bark of the tree is gone suddenly, as though the earth has abandoned you. Or perhaps your body just lost any kind of sensation, because there is nothing solid beneath you anymore. The ground is gone.

Free fall grips your stomach for a second, and panic sparks weakly in the recesses of your mind. But before the fear can take root, you feel something else. Something warm.

Not the feverish heat that’s been chewing at your skin for hours. Not the sticky warmth of blood still drying against your ribs.

No, this is something different. Hard, but not unkind. Solid, but not unforgiving. It presses against your body, and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t hurt.

You don’t know what is happening. You only know you want more of it. Tilting your head as best as it would go, you lean into it as much as your useless limbs allow, seeking that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping you from succumbing to nothingness.

And then the pieces click together.

You’re being carried.

There is an arm under your legs, another braced firmly around your back. The grip is strong but it is trembling faintly against you.

You are cradled against something warm, something alive. And there is a pounding against your ear that is way too rapid to seem healthy.

None of this makes sense, not really, but the sensation of movement - the sway and jolt of steps, hurried but careful - tells you that you’re not imagining this.

Someone has you. Someone’s carrying you.

Your battered mind, of course, latches onto Bucky again.

Your brain shapes the thought of him so effortlessly. Some part of you knew it could only ever be him. You picture his face, sharp and shadowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and heavy with something you don’t dare name.

“Damn it, stay with me! Stay awake!”

Is this him saying that? Or is this your mind still indulging in the vivid fantasies from before? Perhaps this wasn’t your mind all along. Perhaps all of this wasn’t a fantasy of your brain. This was him.

You feel the tight hold with which he is gripping you, how it feels less like he is carrying you and more like he’s keeping you from slipping away entirely.

It doesn’t seem like the Bucky you knew. The one who looked at you with barely concealed irritation, who argued with you until you were both red-faced and seething.

But then again, maybe it does. Maybe this is the same man, stripped bare of all his armor, his stoic resolve fractured like you had imagined. Maybe this is what he looks like when he doesn’t have time to mask the cracks.

The thought makes your chest ache. Or maybe that’s just your ribs - stabbed, bruised, barely functional. You can’t tell anymore.

You want to open your eyes, to confirm what you already know, but your eyelids are heavy, unwilling.

You want to reach for him, to feel with your hands that his worry really is your reality and not all in your head, but your arms hang limply at your sides. Useless.

But your face is pressed against his shoulder. The speeding throbbing of what you assume to be his heart is still in your ear and it makes this so much more real.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Y/n! Not after this.” His ragged words send swaying currents through the still waters of your fading consciousness. “Not like that! Not after I’ve been looking for you for two damn years!”

Wait.

What?

The words ring like a bell, too loud, too pronounced. You feel yourself struggling with comprehending the meaning of this but the shock still rushes up your spine.

Bucky was looking for you. He didn’t celebrate your departure. He came after you.

You left two years ago. Bucky started searching for you two years ago.

“I should’ve stopped you. Fuck, I should have stopped you. I never should’ve let you leave.” His voice is a single crack. So much remorse seeping into his tone, it even latches onto your chest.

“God I’m so sorry I let you leave. I’m so sorry for everything, Y/n! There’s so much I gotta tell you. So much I gotta make right. So you don’t get to do this, alright? You don’t get to die on me!”

His voice doesn’t sound like him at all. The Bucky you remember used measured words, calculated, controlled. Doubt again creeps in that this really is real and not just your mind all up in shambles. Because there is so much pain in his voice. Pain you never saw inflicted in anything he did. Or said. Not to you at least.

Your body jolts in his grip, caused by his hands. He might have tried to shake some life back into you but his hands don’t stop shaking. They are trembling so heavily, as if he’s terrified you’re going to slip through his grasp at any second. As if you’re going to die in his arms. Maybe you will.

“You’re staying with me, you hear me?” he continues, low voice filled with gravel, so wild and anguished. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I need to say. But I can’t-” his voice gives out and you basically hear him trying to hold himself together. His breaths are uneven and broken. “I can’t do it like this. No, not like that. So you gotta pull through. You can’t leave me before I get the chance to tell you. Can’t die on me now that I’ve finally fucking found you. You can’t, Y/n! Please! Stay with me. Just stay.”

You try to open your eyes. Try to let your fingers twitch. Try to open your mouth. But there’s nothing.

You can’t tell him that you’re trying. You can’t tell him that you want to hear what he has to say. Can’t tell him that you’re clinging to his every word. Can’t tell him that you’re fading away.

Only a broken exhale slips through.

His arms tighten, pulling you impossibly closer.

He’s pushing himself. His muscles strain and coil, his body still trembles against you. His voice is breathless and full of despair..

“Stay awake! Look at me. Just- please open your eyes. Just for a second. I need to see them. Need to know you’re still in there, okay?” His words are torn, pulled apart, and put together in a desperate attempt. Tears fill his voice. “You always had to prove me wrong, so do it again. Fight. Fight, Y/n! Please!”

Bucky makes it sound like it could actually be easy. But unfortunately, it’s not. His voice is more distant now. Perhaps it’s giving out. Perhaps it’s the hope that leaves him, taking his voice.

Yet, you’re trying to hold onto it. You’re trying so much.

If he says more, you don’t catch it. You don’t catch anything anymore. You think you might be okay with that. Because even if this isn’t real - even if this is all just a fever dream conjured by a dying mind - you think it’s a good way to go.

Sheltered in warmth. In motion. In the arms of the one person you never thought would come for you.

[collectionofdumbassery]

In my wee humble opinion, the best kind of angst is when the main character is pissed off, usually for a good reason, at the love interest; and the MC is fucking angry, I mean yelling through tears level rage, and the love interest is begging forgiveness. Bonus points if they're in the rain.

[lostalioth]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥

→ premise: if bucky was a pill then you were an addict and you wanna show him just addicted you are.

→ pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, cock piercing [jacobs ladder piercing], cock worship, nicknames [sweets, little one], oral [m receiving], small face fucking

→ a/n: kinktober 07

Now to say you were obsessed would be an understatement, you were addicted, captivated by your boyfriend Bucky Barnes. He didn't really understand why, often telling you he didn't deserve all the affection and attention you gave him. Therefore you were determined to show him your level of devotion as well as show him just how infatuated you were with him.

“Just lay back baby and let me worship you” you started explaining to Bucky in a soft tone as an attempt to calm his nerves. Lightly you push at his chest so that he backs up, his calf’s hitting the edge of the couch causing him to tumble back. He feels his whole body fill with heat at the look on your face as he falls back onto the couch. Your pupils blown, eyes lidded and glazed over in sheer lust, tugging your lip between your teeth, almost stifling a small moan at the sight of him. He leans back putting his hands out on the plush cushions, on instinct his thighs widen in a man spread. The new position giving your eyes perfect access to rake over his body, taking in the hard lines of his muscles that peaked through his tight Henley. As you soak in his state, his body responds, hips bucking up as his cock grows hard, his jeans and boxers becoming uncomfortable.

His nerves set afire once again as you sensually and slowly sink to your knees in front of him, your hands landing on his knees and traveling up his thighs to run over his bulge. “Sweets you know you dont have to do this” his cheeks flush in embarrassment as your tongue darts out to swipe over your top lip, you were practically salivating. Now Bucky wasn't the type of man to say no to a blow job obviously but he didn't feel deserving of being ‘worshiped’ as you called it.

“James Buchanan Barnes, shut up and let me appreciate my sexy ass boyfriend and his pretty cock, please?” Your voice comes out sassy and authoritative until the last word practically morphs into a plea. Your fingers are already working at undoing his belt buckle and the button to his jeans. He was growing more and more desperate for your mouth the longer the teasing went on.

“Mhmm yeah can definitely do that for ya’ little one” he rambled out, frantically nodding as his breathing grew heavier. You smile up at him in gratitude, your hands pulling his leather belt out of the loops and peeling his jeans down his legs. He lifts his hips up to aid you, his bulge finally feeling relief from its confines when you strip him of his boxers right after. His cock bouncing free and lightly hitting his toned stomach, a sigh falls from his lips as you take in the sight of it, making his stomach tighten and flip. He wasn't used to being admired in this way, the feeling unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His tip reddened and begging for attention as it leaks precum, your mouth watering as your eyes catch when the light hits his frenum piercings. 8 of them in total, one for every inch line the underside of his shaft making up his jacobs ladder piercing. To make it easier on you, taking all of him during your first time together he had you count each piercing as you felt them push inside you.

While you're lost in that memory, your eyes are still appreciating and committing the sight of his cock to memory as if you haven't seen it a hundred times by now. Bucky lifts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, hunching his body over to lean down and press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Prolonging the intimate moment with you on your knees, he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb under your eye in a loving manner. You hum into the kiss, your body melting at his touch before you pull away, him returning to his previous position.

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth, dragging down his shaft hitting each piercing as it goes. He sucks in a breath, hands gripping onto the edge of the couch cushions to refrain from just jumping to the end with him fucking up into your hot mouth.

“Fuck sweets” he hissed out when you kiss and kitten lick at his balls before licking back up the side of his cock. You grip the base of him while licking at his tip causing his cock to twitch in your hand before you sink your mouth down on him. “Shit~ just like that little one, oh god” he groans out as his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Bucky knew there was no chance of him making it to heaven when he passed but he knew if he did there was no way it’d feel half as good as this.

He softly moans out when you hollow out your cheeks and suck, your tongue running on the underside of his tip. Bucky lifts up his shirt giving your hands better access to rub along and roam his body. Nails starching at his v-line as you sink your mouth further down on him, taking his cock to the base in your throat, counting each barbell in your head. bucky can feel his balls tighten as they sit full of cum, he was already getting close. “S’good sweets, fuck” he breathed out as he rests his hand on the back of your head. He felt heavy as he sat in your mouth, his piercings cold on your tongue.

“Mhm~ please little one, can i fuck your mouth?” He begs, normally he wouldn't ask but he didnt know how much longer you wanted to extend your worship of his cock but he didn't think he’d last much longer. You hum around him in response as a ‘yes’ bracing yourself by grabbing onto his thick thighs. “Thank you, thank you oh fuck” a long string of curses leave his lips as his hips gradually start bucking up, thrusting his cock into your mouth, your spit spilling out and pooling at the base of his cock as your jaw goes slack to accommodate him fucking your thorat.

“Worship me whenever you want little one, this cocks all yours anyway sweets.” He groaned out, his hips flattering in rhythm as the knot in his stomach was about to snap. It would take a while before Bucky felt deserving of your adoration and worship but if this was one of the ways you planned to show it, he could get used to it.

→ a/n: this wasnt proofread and it was rushed as always, its also being posted later than i wanted lmao kinktober is low-key starting to drain me but fuck it. It’s been giving me issues with this post showing up in tags too so im annoyed with it lol.

[becca-e-barnes]

all i can think about is bucky literally BEGGING to eat your pussy. just on his knees, calling himself a needy slut, just looking up at you with puppy dog eyes while he just begs for your pussy on his mouth. ugh.

Men who are this into eating pussy have a special place reserved for them in Heaven. Hearing someone beg to go down on you is life changing when they know what they're doing 🙈

But you're so right, Bucky would be so willing to degrade himself like that just to be allowed to go down on you. He'd be on his knees, trying to ignore how full his balls feel, begging for you.

"P-please." His voice is so quiet you almost start to question if he said it intentionally. "I need to taste you. I can't think about anything else."

His cock twitches despite how heavy it looks, flushed and angry against the pale skin of his thighs.

"Really?" You tease, tilting his chin up with two fingers so he's looking at your face, rather than your body. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking. Describe it to me"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I'm thinking about how soft you are, how warm and silky your cunt feels under my tongue. I'm thinking about burying my tongue as deep inside you as I can reach and still wishing I could get deeper. I want to feel how wet you are but more than anything, I want to taste how wet you are. I want to dream about it for the rest of the week. Every time I stroke my cock I want to be able to remember how you taste."

Precum drips from his tip and you're not sure you can deny him much longer. Not when he's making it sound so appealing.

"Do you even hear yourself?" You do your very best to act like you don't love the sound of every word that has just come out of his mouth.

"I do. I sound like a shameless, filthy, desperate slut. The type of slut who wants to kiss and lick and worship your sweet pussy until you're so sensitive you have to force me to stop." His hand wanders between his own legs, tugging his stiff length to the mere thought.

He's not above begging and you know that. He'll draw this out as long as he needs to until he gets his way but there's very little sense in that when you want this just as much as he does.

"Lie on the bed." You give him time to make his way over before following, lining yourself up just above his face.

You take a second to smooth his hair, enjoying the feeling of his freshly shaved face against the sensitive insides of your thighs.

He's looking up at you, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you." The relief in his voice is clear right before he grasps your hips and pulls you down onto his mouth.

Fuck, he's incredible. This is the mouth you dream about when you're alone. His tongue massages your clit, stroking back and forth before dipping into your fluttering entrance. You swear he must feel what he's doing to you. You feel your cunt clenching and rippling, your muscles contracting in response to the pleasure and for a second you wonder if he can tell.

He's hungry for this; he has been for hours. He's moaning and slurping obscenely, his tongue buried in your cunt. You don't even need to look over your shoulder to know that he's alternating between fucking his own fist and gripping the base of his shaft tight enough to stop him from spilling his release all over himself too soon.

It's very hard to tell which of you enjoys this more.